


Louder Than God's Revolver, and Twice as Shiny

by elliedew



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate 15.20, Castiel is Saved from the Empty (Supernatural), F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Savage's Law, The Empty is Not Empty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:15:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elliedew/pseuds/elliedew
Summary: After Jack had to end Chuck, things changed. Sam put all his energy into research, while Dean fell into a deep depression. Every dead end in the search for a way to get Cas back pushed him farther into a bottle, until one night he exploded.Now, it's been two months since he's seen his brother, and longer still since he's had any hope. So who the hell is in his hotel room?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 67
Kudos: 41





	1. Accidents

**Author's Note:**

> I'm an MCR fan. Fight me.

0-0-0

“Get up.”

Dean blinked slowly awake, his head was heavy and his whole body rebelled at the idea of movement. How long ago had he slipped into a drunken stupor? Hours? Minutes? 

Did it really matter?

“Get up!”

Someone hovered over him. Small, haughty and scowling as if they didn’t understand why he couldn’t obey a simple order. 

Dean let his eyes fall closed again. Fuck this. Maybe it would be some monster to put him out of his misery. Or some idiot who would just–

“I said, Get.  _ Up.” _

Then a hand tangled in his shirt front, dragged him upward off the bed and held him, dangling, six inches above the floor. 

If that itself hadn’t been enough to sober him up real quick, the grace charged smack to the face was. 

Dean’s eyes popped open and he acted on instinct, fist curled and crunching against an upturned face before he had time to register, to remember that punching an angel was absolutely not a good idea. Gabriel, however unfazed as he was by the blow, let out a huff of exasperation and dropped him. 

It was only after he hit the floor Dean felt the pain of his broken hand. He rolled into a ball on his face and shoulders cradling his hand and moaning. 

Gabriel crouched, fingers laced together and tilted his head to try and lock eyes with Dean. It was almost amusing that the elder Winchester’s face was smashed into the tacky unclean carpeting. “Are you done now?”

Dean rolled onto his back, mouth flapping open and closed in disbelief.

Gabriel sighed and his face scrunched up; “Fine, long story short; you REALLY don’t want to know how I did it because you wouldn’t believe me anyway and if I told you you’d just punch me again and break your other hand.”

Dean managed a strangled retching noise and rolled away from him. He tried desperately not to notice how the fractured bones had distorted the quickly bruising skin on the back of his hand, but the ends grated together like shards of glass and shot burning agony up his arm and into his brain stem.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and grabbed him by the elbow. “I don’t have time for this,” He pried Dean’s left hand from the death grip on his wrist and pulled harshly at the hunter’s crooked index finger, tongue poked out from between his lips. He made a wet farting noise as the bones popped and cracked and snapped instantly back into alignment. “There, see?” Gabriel grinned proudly. “All better.”

Dean weakly flexed his hand and gave the archangel the finger for his troubles.

“Oh, stop that,” Gabriel rocked to his feet once more, “you’re getting me all hot and bothered!” 

Dean drunkenly rolled into a sitting position, head flopped back on his neck to peer up at the other. He crossed his arms over his bare knees and set his jaw. “What the hell do you want?”

Gabriel thumbed his nose self-consciously. “I need to borrow your car.” 

“No.”

“No?”

“That’s what I said!”

Gabriel pouted dramatically, hands clasped behind his back, then cocked his head to the side and let out a sigh; “Sorry,” His hands reappeared, keys dangling from finger and thumb; “Kind of non-negotiable.” 

“You’re NOT driving my car!” Dean lunged to his feet, however unsteadily and snatched the keys away.

“You really think you have a say in this, don’t you!” The keys appeared magically back in his hands.

“Hey!” Dean turned, stumbled a little and bobbed his head forward on his neck as a counterweight to his backside. He swayed dangerously, toes curled into the carpet to keep him upright. His chin hit his chest and his previously broken hand came up, fingers splayed and flexing like a two-year-old offered a cookie. “Give ‘em back.”

Gabriel wondered if Dean realized that in the grand scope of things, his whole species was the equivalent of an infant. Grunting and inarticulate, nothing but grabby hands and teary eyes. He laughed as he turned toward the door.

Dean grabbed him by the shoulder. “Give ‘em back!” 

Gabriel batted his hand away, and instead of dragging Dean across the carpet like a petulant toddler, he shifted through time and space, grabbed Dean by the hair and pulled his head back sharply on his neck. Forcing the Winchester into an unnatural, painful arch to stay on his feet. The wind from his movement knocked the motel’s cheap stationery flying, curtains shifted and dust kicked up from their folds. He stared down into Dean’s bloodshot eyes for longer than necessary. “I don’t have time for this. You either help me or you don’t. I don’t care. Either way I’m taking that car.”

They stared at one another long enough, still enough, that Dean’s back began to scream in torment from being bent so unnaturally and he had to fold to his knees on the floor and rub it. “What do you want? Why are you even here? I thought you snuffed it in that other universe.” 

“Aw, you act like you’re not happy to see me!” He grinned.

Dean chuckled again and shook his head; “Right, cause I should be so frickin’ pleased you’re here. You’ve obviously been alive this whole time and yet you did absolutely NOTHING to—“He stopped cold and clenched his jaw. Images flashing behind his eyes. The peaceful smile on Cas’s face as the Empty had taken him away for good.

Gabriel’s smile didn’t diminish exactly, it just suddenly was not a smile anymore. “Did nothing to what, Dean?”

Dean looked away in denial, rubbed his face to force the burn of his sinuses back. His throat ached, a burning sensation rising in his chest, dark and hollow and hard. There was no identifiable emotion. He’d burned through hatred, anger, and hopelessness weeks ago while he and Sam had combed every book and scroll and ancient text in the bunker for a way to access the Empty. All his hope and determination had bled out of him. He wanted to speak. Wanted to say  _ anything! _ Anything at all–  _ Don’t do this, Cas. _ –He couldn’t say a word even though they were backing up in his throat, waiting to spill out like lava, like vomit. He wanted to say it, wanted to  _ scream _ it but instead his voice echoed in his own head and there was not a single sound between his lips. 

Gabriel’s not-smile changed again even though his expression didn’t waver in the slightest. He shook as if he had been shouted at, as if Dean had let fly every word that was pinched tightly between his teeth; “Yeah, I thought that’s what you said.” 

Gabriel took a step back and glanced at the clock on the side table. “Put some pants on.” He tossed Dean’s keys at his head, satisfied when the man managed to catch them on the fly. “And hurry up about it, would you? We don’t have much time.” 

Dean didn’t realize until he was lacing up his boots that he was stone cold sober. He didn’t know when that had happened, seeing as he was absolutely certain he’d been properly shitfaced not five minutes ago. He didn’t want to be sober, hadn’t been in weeks, but he was now and it sucked even more than he'd imagined. His body ached all over, his stomach felt like it was full of boiling oil, and his eyes were gritty and hot. He looked up from his feet and saw Gabriel waiting with his arms crossed by the door. 

“Where are we going?” Dean said under his breath, shrugging into his jacket. 

When Gabriel spoke Dean froze and stared, he couldn’t have heard that right. There’s no way. But Gabriel had that not-smile on his face again and the archangel was apparently, being deathly serious and it scared Dean a little in ways he would never admit.

“To get Castiel back.”

0-0-0

0-0-0

0-0-0


	2. Black Holes

0-0-0

Dean didn’t put on music despite the fact his skin was itching for it. For the distraction, the wall of sound between himself and the archangel. If he could turn it on he could affect nonchalance, without it all he could do was grip the steering wheel with white knuckles and purse his lips to keep from screaming.  _ What took you so long! We’ve been trying to find a way in for weeks! Two months! _

“You really—REALLY think too loudly,” Gabriel wrung a finger in his ear and propped his jaw on his hand. He thrust a finger in the air when Dean turned, mouth open to argue. “I didn’t come sooner because it’s more complicated than you think. Only Reapers can go to the Empty, and well… Empty ate all but a few reapers, and those left don’t really want to talk to anyone.”

“Okay, so how are we getting there then?”

Gabriel turned and looked at him evenly, “I have friends in… multiple places.” He glanced away, self consciously. “Would you call sleeping with the embodiment of Death, Necrophilia?”

“I did not need to know that. Why couldn’t you just mojo us wherever we needed to go?”

“I’m conserving energy. Trust me, this is not gonna be a small feat. It takes a lot of ‘mojo’ as you call it, to break into hell… It took a whole garrison last time, and the Empty is twice as difficult.” He pointedly doesn’t look at Dean. “And I’m going to try it all by my little lonesome.” 

“Okay, why do you need my car? Why not some other car? I’m pretty sure ‘archangel’ gives you the ability to hot wire cars.”

Gabriel jogged his head to the side a little; “Well, it wasn’t really the car I needed. It helps. But it’s not really about the car.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think your feeble human mind can take it.”

“Try me,” Dean chuckles, it’s a mad hollow sound and Gabriel turns to stare at him with his brows drawn down. “My brother and I got the shit kicked out of us by  _ God _ . I think I can understand a little archangel magic.”

And he could feel it coming, but couldn’t stop himself, couldn’t even pump the brakes on the conversation because his ‘feeble human mind’ really didn’t understand what he was doing. It was a fatal flaw of humanity, to believe they were invincible and not the proverbial toddlers of the universe.

Gabriel suddenly lashed out, caught him by the front of his shirt and yanked hard. Pinned him down by the throat across the Impala’s front seat. 

In that instant three things happened. Dean felt himself moved, flattened down against the warm leather and steel springs. Blinding light enveloped him, and Dean realized he was, in all actuality, still sitting in his seat, facing forward. 

Dean stared in shock and the fiery glow surrounding him, light in iridescent colors Dean hadn’t known existed wreathed Gabriel’s body and shone from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. It poured out between his very cells, as if that small human shell were barely containing something catastrophically immense, something turgid and spinning constantly, burning and frozen and  _ screaming  _ in its sheer POWER.

If he had been fully attached to his own body at the time he would have promptly ruined his shorts, instead all he could do was stare up in shock and an eerie sense of shame and peace balled into one. Completely unable to look away and yet aware of himself, his body anyway, sitting behind the wheel looking relaxed and hollow, watching the road as he drove.

It wasn’t until Gabriel shook him and he felt it through everything that made him who he was, that Dean realized he was barely attached to his body by a thin, fragile tether, like an umbilicus stretching from somewhere in his core to thin papery tendrils interwoven with his very flesh. He could see the glow of it, something unnatural and not human… Something that blended with Gabriel’s own glow, danced with it _. _

Gabriel’s eyes BURNED and Dean felt he may go blind looking into them but couldn’t make himself turn away. He could see himself in them—through them—

**“This would kill a normal man,”** Gabriel spoke and his voice was melodious, as if beneath the rasp of it there were a multitude of other voices, some crying in joy, some screaming—Gabriel’s voices rang in his mind like music.

**“Why, Dean, do you think you’re not dead?”**

He knew instantly and yet refused to believe it, couldn’t wrap his mind around it even though he’d accepted the fact of it years ago. 

**“THIS—”** Gabriel’s grace flicked out and wrapped around the tether connecting Dean to his body, brought it closer so Dean could see those wisps of WHITE that were interwoven with the thin silvery color of himself and—and Dean felt it—hot and cold all at once, ripping through him like lightning but in a way that was painful, agonizing, only because he had denied it for so long. Painful in the way seeing someone who had been gone from your life for a long time was painful. Agonizing in the same way a soothing hand made you bleed inside when you had been without it for so long and craved it so badly.  **“—WAS NO ACCIDENT!”**

Dean could see his body, sitting behind the wheel, mouth open in a silent scream, because those wisps, that GRACE woven into him connected them body and soul.

**“That ‘Profound Bond’ is more than just a play on words.**

**“You have no idea what it really is… You can’t understand it. I could explain it, but you wouldn’t get it. Not fully. Humans aren’t capable…”** There was a gleam in Gabriel’s eyes and Dean felt a sting of something like electricity run through him.

**“But you, Dean—Dean Dean DEAN…”** He lifted one hand and patted the Winchester’s cheek with more force than was necessary;  **“You’re SPECIAL… So, this means we have a chance. If this works, we can do it. But it’s going to take a lot out of both of us to manage it.”**

Dread filled his stomach and Dean clenched his teeth together tightly, unable to move, unable to defend himself.

**“Maybe,”** Gabriel began, leaning slowly forward, one of many hands lifting;  **“if I just—“** his hands were no longer strangling, but pressing Dean down, pinning him fully to the seat with his arms and his legs and his weight and his very barely contained SELF,  **“—show you… you’ll understand.”**

Gabriel didn’t even touch him, just closed his eyes and suddenly Dean was THERE, wedged deep into the very condensed POWER that was Gabriel and he was being perfectly murdered by it. 

Bliss and Terror were the same thing. Here, he felt nothing of himself, nothing but those thin, barely there wisps he shared with Cas woven into him. He felt so small, amoeba like. Shapeless and frayed at the edges, tied,  _ Bound _ to something enormous and burning with cold fire. Light and Sound were the same thing. Grace made solid. Like the northern lights on crack, he thought, unable to see, but perfectly able to  _ feel _ it. Feel the colors in different vibrating wavelengths, feel the intent like a solid ball of churning everything, looming over him.

Dean Winchester felt microscopic next to this… This Being that was GABRIEL. Felt awed and terrified and perfectly in tune with it through those thin threads in himself. 

He remembered Jimmy Novak telling him that it was like being chained to a comet and Dean felt those words were nothing like the sensation at all. Michael had kept him in a small space where he didn’t feel much unless he fought tooth and nail. This was different, because to show him what the bond meant Gabriel was letting himself become the vessel.

And then it was different. Something was different and Dean didn’t know what it was but it frightened him. Inside he felt those fibers, and through Gabriel he felt a wider, broader connection. 

It was like an absence of this power. A tear…a black hole of a place where something once was but was now gone and Dean felt that aching maw in himself, in those few pale threads tied to him. It felt alien to experience such mind frying intensity through those fibers. Something that crippled him through such tiny shards of Grace and Dean suddenly  _ knew. _

He knew and all the words, all the hurts and sorrow and heartbreak he’d been drowning in the last few weeks came rushing back.

Where his body still sat in the driver’s seat staring out neutrally at the road ahead of him, he began to silently weep. Tears rolling down his face without any ability to stop them. 

This place would never be filled. It yawned up at Dean from inside and in the dark absence he could feel the residual echoes of what— _ who  _ had once been there. 

Dean hated himself for being the cause of his father’s damnation. Had hated himself for much more than that. Had simply and purely hated himself. Dean had gone to Hell for Sam. Had died for Sam, had watched Sam go to Hell for him. He had thought there was nothing more important than his brother, nothing that mattered more. And then he saw it again. Relived those unthinkable few moments of terror and deathly certainty. Billie chasing them through the corridors of the Bunker. Cas’s face, wet with tears, yet smiling so brightly.

He saw all of it reflected in that chasm. He saw a brother, cast down, mourned. A father suddenly gone, guilt. Siblings squabbling trying to bring their parent back, mourning the loss of his love. Plotting, falling, dying. He saw those who continued their father’s work. Saw himself in that very ideal, how everything, those first few months, had been because it was what Dad would have wanted them to do. How Sam hadn’t wanted to, said Dad would be OK on his own. How Dean had picked and badgered and finally got his way. 

Dean saw himself in Castiel… and at first it sickened him. He saw everything he hated in himself in the angel, saw himself put Castiel down, insult him, tell him to his face that he didn’t matter. Everything he had visualized his own father saying to him, spewed forth from his mouth into the face of an Angel of The Lord. 

Castiel had seen through it, had known, and had followed him anyway. Had grown doubts himself. Had LOVED him. And he hadn’t said anything back. Couldn’t because he refused to acknowledge that this could be the end for the angel, that he wouldn’t find another way–

Dean snapped back into his body fast enough to yank the steering wheel to the side, onto the curb, pop open his door and lean out over the roadway before he was sick. 

It was a startling, horrifying parallel and Dean was aware of it for the first time, coughing up sour bile and half-digested alcohol. He coughed and sobbed and hacked and pounded his fist into the door panel and sobbed some more. 

Gabriel didn’t say a word. Didn’t pull crumpled paper napkins from the glove compartment and offer them up so Dean could wipe his mouth and shirt front. Didn’t offer to snap his fingers and make Dean’s sleeves clean and his mouth fresh and Dean didn’t ask him to. 

Dean choked for a few more minutes then sat up and slammed his door. Bowing his head over the wheel, arms folded face wet with sweat and tears. He breathed in, out and turned his eyes to the road. “Okay… How do I do it.”

“We need water… Lots of water, preferably moving.”

Dean nodded, cleared his throat and pulled back out onto the road. 

0-0-0

0-0-0

0-0-0


	3. Ruin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Empty.

0-0-0

The water Dean found was under a bridge, Gabriel climbed out of the car as soon as they’d stopped. He peered over one side, then the other, kicked the concrete, and stared upward at the sky. 

“This’ll work.” He shook out his hands, then rubbed them together. A deep breath in and out and he walked a slow circle around the vehicle, stopped here and there around it to run the tip of his finger against the chrome, like he was looking for dust specks or some shit. 

Dean scrubbed his face and tilted his head back to stare at the roof when suddenly he heard a sound any car owner dreads. The screech of something sharp cutting through their precious paint job. Dean jerked in his seat, hands tightening on the wheel and saw Gabriel standing in front of the Impala drawing something on the hood with the tip of a finger. “STOP THAT!”

Gabriel paused, looked up at him and smiled indulgently. “Stop what?”

Dean lunged out of the car and stomped to him, eyes locked on the symbol the archangel had been cutting into his baby. He spluttered in a rage for ten seconds then Gabriel smiled, oh so innocently and lifted his hands, palm up; “As soon as it’s over I’ll snap my fingers and she’ll be good as new! I mean, look at me? Would I lie about this?”

Dean tongued the back of his teeth and glared at the archangel threateningly, thought loudly and violently about everything he could do to cause Gabriel discomfort and pain.

“Okay, yeah, I would… But, I’m not lying this time! As soon as I’m able, I’ll fix it. Besides, it can’t be drawn on with chalk or paint like those traps on your trunk there. It’ll burn off on re-entry,” He lowered his hand to continue but Dean grabbed his wrist and squeezed. 

Their eyes locked and Gabriel's smile faded. His face was calm, serious, and his eyes had gone dark and devoid of humor; “If you want him back, I need to do this. I’m taking the car, Dean. With or without your consent,” He paused to breathe and let that sink in before he continued; “Though I will admit, with your permission and your connection with her, things will go a lot faster. It’s not exactly easy to imbue an inanimate object with a will of its own, especially with so much will. It takes a lot of time and effort, neither of which I have much of at the moment, so, are you gonna let me go? Or, do I knock you out and do this the hard way. Against your—and her will, or go find another way with second string material. I don’t really care at this point.”

Dean stared at him for a three count, and let go. He had to walk away to keep from arguing. Then the sound of tortured metal bit into his brain again and he scuffed a hand over his head. He felt nauseous. “What do you mean ‘her will’?”

Gabriel didn’t look up; “The car.” 

“Are you imbuing—“

“No, you did that… I’m just adding a little life to the party.”

“I did  _ what?” _

“What do you think about while you’re working on her?” His eyes are still on the symbols he’s etching into the Impala’s hood.

Dean blinks and gives his head a shake; “What?”

“You think. You talk, you put your sweat, tears and blood into this car, Dean. You’ve put yourself into her. You’ve put  _ Intent _ into her,” He paused and looked up with that not-smile on his face once more. “Don’t tell me you’ve not noticed how much smoother she runs when you’re behind the wheel as opposed to anyone else? How sometimes she seems to just drive herself? How when you’re drunk sometimes she won’t start at all and others you seem to make it back to whatever hovel you’re squatting in without incident?”

Dean blinks at him in surprise.

“How many times has this car been completely totaled and yet you’ve been able to rebuild her perfectly? That doesn’t seem a little fantastical to you? A little miraculous? You were special before, but  _ THIS,” _ Gabriel lifted his hand and his fingers hovered, shaking over the complicated crescent of symbols he’d made. There was reverence in his tone, awe; “She’d bend for you, Dean Winchester… You did something nobody thought possible. Not even Dad. Just like you brought Cas back from the dead when Sam dive bombed the cage, you’ve somehow, beyond the logic of man and the laws of the universe, given this car the bitter mote of a soul, and one day I hope you see what I do when I look at her because it’s beautiful.” 

Dean swallowed and maybe, just maybe he could feel it, a tingle, like a hand hovering close in the darkness and his breath shivers as he exhales. “I did what now?”

“Do you want the long version or do you want to go save Cas?”

Dean took another breath and nodded, shifted around to the trunk while Gabriel finished, and muttered apologies to the car while he armed himself.

“Okay, I’m done… Time to roll, Winchester.” Gabriel curled his fingers back into his palm slowly and blinked before he found focus again; “We need to back up and hit this bridge as fast as you can because as soon as we come off it,” He pointed, “You’ll be driving blind.” 

“What?”

“There isn’t a highway to Hell, Dean and there isn’t an interstate to the Empty. When we get there, you just concentrate on driving. Keep this car moving, ignore anything and everything else, and whatever you do, DON’T get out of the car.”

“Why?”

“Because this place is guarded to keep anything out that isn’t specifically put there. THIS,” He motions to the Impala, “Is a loophole, a soul without a human body. She’s so heavily warded right now NOTHING can see what’s inside her. The wards protecting the Empty won’t repel me if I stay in there until we’re past them. They won’t be able to see me until I’m already inside. And as long as YOU stay in there you’re protected by her, They won’t be able to see you. The second you step foot outside They’ll be all over you. And I’m going to be a bit preoccupied so don’t expect me to come running if you get yourself in trouble,” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flask. It was blackened with age but Dean had the vague impression that at one time it had been silver. 

“What’s that?”

Gabriel glanced at him tiredly, then turned back to the flask in his hand, carefully removing the cap. “This is our ticket in.”

A noxious gray smoke wafted out of the container and Dean wrinkled his nose as the breeze kicked the smell toward him. 

“Sulfur?”

“Demon,” Gabriel said it in a sneer, teeth bared in disgust. “Trapped in a liquid form.”

Dean’s nose wrinkled up and he stepped closer, holding his breath and peered in at it; “Nasty… How’d you manage that?”

Gabriel grins; “Trade secret… Sorry kiddo,” He rolled his eyes; “Communion wine, a little grace, blessed flask… TADA! Instant Demon Soup!” He pushed the flask under Dean’s nose and laughed as the Winchester stumbled back with a hand over his face. “We can hitch a ride to the Empty on it when the reaper comes,” He approached the bridge carefully and whistled as he splashed out the gloppy contents in a line from one side of the bridge to the other. 

“Now hurry up, I can only freeze time for so long and then we’ll have to cook up another batch, and trust me, that ain’t pretty,” He climbed back into the passenger seat and waited while Dean rubbed the tension from his face and climbed in as well. “Remember what I said, alright? She has intent of her own and she’ll protect you with everything she has as long as you’re in one of these seats or in contact with her. But do us both a favor and  _ DON’T GET OUT OF THE CAR!” _

“My car is going to protect me from the Empty?”

“As long as she can.” 

Dean finds that strangely, weirdly comforting. He reversed off the bridge and a good distance further until there was nothing but blackness and trees on either side of them, then he put her in park and climbed out. 

“Oh, for God’s sake, HURRY UP!” Gabriel sighed and tapped a rhythm on his knee, waiting while Dean rummaged the trunk. He came back with red rimmed eyes, half a bottle of Johnny Walker, and smeared tear tracks on his cheeks. Gabriel didn't speak, just took the bottle when Dean held it out, expression nauseated as he forced himself to swallow a mouthful, teeth bared as he put the cap back on and tucked it into the crease of the seat. 

“Why the water?” Dean said, and shifted into gear. The engine revved like a beast roaring. 

“There’s water in all the realms too, you know. It’s a kind of,” Gabriel slid one palm against the other emphatically; “Lubricant.”

Dean snorted, “Any words of wisdom, wisecracks or ritualistic B.S. before this’ll work?”

Gabriel looked at him with a grin; “What do you take me for? Human?”

Dean bared his teeth and stomped the gas to the floor. He watched the speedometer go up and was a little horrified that the odometer wasn't twitching, but was rolling and rolling backward. The radio crackled to life, turned off and on again and the headlights burned brighter and brighter and brighter. She seemed to lift upward, as if stretching after a long sleep. Fifty… Fifty-five… sixty… sixty-five… seventy… seventy-five… eighty... the tires thunk over the metal plates separating highway from bridge and the shimmering curtain of the demon as it was slowly enveloped in the ghostly white wings of a reaper. The haze burned suddenly bright red as the Impala punched through it. 

There was no distinction, no gentle fade from earth to the Empty, nothing gradual. They were simply there, like falling through thin ice, a punch to the face and two barrels of rock salt to the chest all in one instant. 

It hurt. 

It hurt a lot. Those thin fibers that had connected him to Cas were suddenly on fire. Gabriel’s back arched and his mouth came open, fingers clenched into the upholstery. “Shit that stings!” He shook his head, “You alright, Winchester?”

Dean’s vision was glazed with burning wetness. He wanted to be sick, wanted to curl up and die but something wouldn't let him, that ache in his chest, the knowledge that he was here to pull someone OUT and the sooner it was done the sooner he could get out of here himself was the only thing keeping him sane in that instant. This place felt WRONG. Memories flooded back, all the things he’d done, the horrors he’d experienced in Hell. Everything, all at once a flood of it. He felt vaguely like Frodo. Helpless with a great lidless eye honed on him like a laser beam, directing the Empty’s attention right to Dean Winchester. “Yeah!” He shouted back. “I’m fine.”

The terrain was just a dark smudge through Dean’s burning senses, he was afraid, terrified because something hulking and rock like clipped off his side mirror in a spray of amber sparks and shattered glass. There were screams and roars and inhuman noises. He could Feel the things down here. Could FEEL their anguish, their sick glee at causing such anguish, remembered it in himself like the burn of alcohol down his throat. Those who hadn't yet broken screaming, begging for help from the familiar humanoid shapes tearing them apart. The sick disgust from broken souls realizing what destruction they were causing and yet the fetid glee in the same moment as they cut and burned and ravaged— Souls warped, tattered and torn attacking one another because they could. 

This place didn't feel  _ empty _ . It felt like Hell!

Gabriel’s eyes blazed with blue light and he gave a full body shake. Slapped his palms against both cheeks as if playing heavy handed with the aftershave, or psyching himself up. “Always liked ‘em spicy!  _ Comeon! _ We can do this!” And the air rippled and around him. Like a haze the shimmering outline of multiple arms unfolded, knuckles cracking as he stretched. Gabriel put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and grinned. “Remember. Keep moving! You slow down you go down!” He buffed Dean’s chin with his fist and winked. 

Dean felt vaguely insulted, but the dim aura around Gabriel was suddenly an explosion of light and color as he zapped himself out of the car. In the emptiness above him the light, the IMMENSITY that was Gabriel moved off across the landscape, casting a blinding light over everything around them. Dean could feel him though like the plucking of guitar strings in his chest, guiding him, telling him which way to go. 

This Empty, wasn’t empty at all. The ground reminded him of the La Brea Tar Pits, sucking down thrashing, shrieking bodies of demons, and angels, all covered in muck, all fighting for freedom.

Dean clenched his teeth and pressed harder on the accelerator. This was where demons went when you killed them. Where angels go when they die. This was the place restless spirits went to unless they were destined for hell. 

But something wasn't right. It was too hectic, too featureless, apart from the warring creatures around them. Its eternal blackness was filled with the burning whirlpools of arms and eyes and bodies of angels, and the horrific twisted atrocities of demons. All of them fighting and trying to kill, not realizing that dying here was impossible. Just ripping into one another in wanton destruction. It was worse than Hell, which was a horrible thought really. Dean remembered Hell as so much more organized. This place was something new, something loud and unnatural because it shouldn’t exist in this state. The Empty felt wrong in ways Dean couldn't verbalize. But, as powerful as Empty was, it could not control all of its inhabitants now that they were awake. There was no reason, no purpose, just the utter chaos of beings realizing that when they died they went to the same place as their supposed enemy. There was no recognition, no rejoining with their father. They went to a place where they essentially ceased to exist. Used, broken, and betrayed.

Dean swallowed bile and kept driving, eyes streaming, burning like he’d been maced. He lifted one shaking hand long enough to swipe at them, to clear the tears and found blood on his hand. He ignored it and dodged obsidian colored stone and the twisted forms of demons leaping at him, scratching and tearing at the Impala’s hood, trying to rip it off and get to the miracle of her soul. 

A black eyed man with his guts hanging out and his lower jaw torn off and clutched in his own fist, lunged forward and landed on the hood with a wet splat. Instantly he began to smoke and blister. He made a horrible noise in the back of his torn throat, lifted his pudgy, bloody fists, and brought them down onto the windshield, again and again. 

Dean winced and gave a shout of outrage as the windshield cracked, cut the wheel hard to the right and shook the monstrosity off. He saw the rock formation being birthed from the Empty itself too late, jerked the wheel again frantic; “Son of a  _ bitch!” _ The left headlights shattered and the fender crunched with a hard thud against a boulder. Dean glanced in his rear view mirror and saw that it had wrenched free of the dirt and was rolling, swallowing two, three more hell spawn. Like something out of that movie Critters. The very ground and walls of this place became un-solid, gooey, clinging to angels, demons and lost souls alike, dragging them down into the pitch black depths and silence.

This whole place was aware, he realized with a jolt, this wasn't even a place, it was a vast sentient thing. They were in the literal belly of the beast and it was out to get them. Clinging like mud to the tires and any part of the Impala it could reach, trying to drag her back, drag them down into oblivion.

Dean caught a flash of blinding light off to his left and jerked the wheel in that direction, heart hammering in his chest when the very living dirt and rock culminated on that spot into a hulking giant of black sludge, attacking three angels all writhing in a disgusting bloody dance of pain and hatred. 

He recognized them, insomuch as one could recognize the true form of a wavelength of celestial intent. They looked nothing like the vessels they stole on earth. Massive and unspeakable. Dean wasn't really sure what he was looking at. Brightness and churning power that gazed back at him without eyes. Heard without ears. Spoke without a tongue. 

Michael and Lucifer were still fighting, even here. Pain and heartbreak radiating from them like sunlight, and even as they battled they fought the Empty, and fought a third angel that strangely had a humanoid shape. Too many arms, too many wings, that tried to pull them all apart. Voices like whale song and cosmic radiation, echoed eternally around them in a horrendous cacophony of screams and cries for mercy. 

Gabriel was trying to pull them away from something smaller, tattered and barely alight, clutched in a few of their terrible hands. 

Dean felt the wheel twist suddenly beneath his hands. It jerked itself free from his grip and he held his hands up in horror, gazing down like a witness to a five car pile-up. 

The Impala moved of her own volition. She ran down two demons wrestling with the emptiness, the thud of them against the undercarriage made Dean cry out and brace his hands against the roof to keep from being thrown around. Up an incline and airborne, she splashed down amid a seething pool of blackness, slid in sideways between the battling archangels and the hoard of demons Dean now saw had hold of the small smear of color. Clubs and knives, and claws rained down again and again and again.

Before the Impala could rock to a stop the passenger side door popped open wide Dean was met with a sight that burned itself into his very essence. 

Through the brightness Dean discerned colors, and the more he focused on it, the more tightly they coalesced until he recognized the face, the eyes. The mouth–

Castiel was pushed face first into the writhing ground by the grotesque, knobby foot of a cackling demon wielding a hatchet— another had claws sunk in by inches to each shoulder and is pulling, tearing long bloody furrows back toward two sets of matted wings so crusted by blood and dirt they look as if they’re made of clay and a third was tearing at his clothes, intent written in the sick glee on its twisted, skeletal face.

Dean didn't think. Didn't give himself time to think, his heart lurched, their bond pulled and Dean obeyed, felt curses and commands and anger spilling past his lips. 

It was a feeble light really. Like comparing a flickering ember lost on an icy wind to the very sun, but Dean felt it grow within himself and he grabbed the gun from his waistband, took aim and stepped out of the car, bullets flying. 

"You get the fuck away from him!" 

Perhaps it was his intent, powered by the bond they shared. Maybe it was the fact he had pure silver in the presence of demons' true forms. Unfortunately it was unlikely he would ever know for certain. Two of them flew back when struck and crumpled screeching and clawing to the ground. They continued to fight as the ground reached for them, tangling tendrils of blackness around impossible bodies as it drew them into itself. The third dodged, shuddered like a film cut by inexpert hands around the bullets and launched himself at Dean. 

The Demon hit him in the face and for an instant everything went black then came back with a wet snap and a jolt of pain through his ribs as he collided with the rear fender of the Impala. He bounced off into the black muck and it clung to him with a will of its own, burned cold like acid, seeping lethargy into his bones.  _ Sleep. _ It whispered into his veins.  _ Sleep. Rest now. _ Dean resisted, too angry, too full of hope and stupid human denial. He rolled, gun in hand and fired at the demon coming at him, eyes wide, mind elsewhere, else-when, back when Demons were his reality, when he had defiled and been Defiled. Not again. Never again! Fear bubbled in his throat and the first two bullets missed, going wide out into nothing. The skeleton faced demon growled low in its rotting throat, lifted one large flabby leg, black dripping from an angry wobbling erection the length and size of Dean’s forearm, and slammed his foot down on Dean’s thigh… hard. 

He heard the bone break before he felt it. Heard the crunch like a snapping branch, the jolt of it through his body just as the third bullet hit the demon in the jaw, tunneled upward and popped his left eye out just as it blew the top of his skull off in pale yellow shards of bone and a pulpy spray of brain matter and flesh. The Demon grabbed at its ruined face, then took another swing at Dean. Blind, deaf and mute it stumbled into the Impala. She revved her engine angrily and popped open her rear passenger door to knock the demon back. 

It made a horrible gurgling noise and flailed around before it tripped over the vines of Empty beginning to crawl up its legs. It went down like a felled tree, thrashing and was slowly swallowed. 

Dean gripped his injured leg with both hands and stubbornly tried to climb to his feet. The blackness had found his boots and had crept up from there like giant leeches, growing fatter and fatter the higher they climbed. He couldn't stand, but dragged himself forward, eyes locked on the darkened scrap forgotten beneath the warring Archangels. 

"Cas!" 

The Impala peeled her tires against the goop beginning to slither up her wheels and fenders, engine screaming, but she was caught, slowly sinking lower and lower, tilting back into the Empty like a sinking ship. 

Castiel was completely still. Eyes shut and the ropes of black had swarmed halfway over him now, creeping farther and farther. 

Lucifer and Michael struck at Gabriel and he hit the ground like an earthquake, splashing a tidal wave of emptiness over himself. 

He roared like a redwood falling and struggled to get up, his brightness fading.

The great Empty roared and lashed out, wrapping arm like appendages around the archangels drawing them in. 

Dean continued to fight forward, blackness slipping over his hands and arms, burying him like quicksand, up his legs, across his hips and back. Numbness, stillness. An absence of being. It calls to him like a siren and everything goes gray.

"Cas,  _ please!" _

Blue eyes shuttered open, dull and unseeing, swept left and right then locked on him. Thick ropes of emptiness began to wrap themselves around Castiel's wings and drag him down, drag Dean down into apathy, but something changed. Castiel’s eyes burned bright and recognition flared across his bloody face.

_ "Dean?" _

Pain arced between them like a completed circuit. Dean’s broken leg, Castiel’s heart tearing asunder. And those thin wisps of brightness that had been severed between them burned to life. 

The grayness was shoved back. The pain now a bright burning thing all up and down his side, across his stomach and into his chest. It’s possible, as more blackened tendrils swarm the area and drag Lucifer and Michael down, that Dean peed himself in fear that this was it. Sam would never know what had happened to him, and the group of survivors Jack had returned to them, would search for years with no sign as to his whereabouts. 

_ Not like this, I can't go down like this! It's so soon, I never got to– _

And the brightness that was Gabriel was suddenly everywhere, exploding outward from the smaller man’s form as he clawed his way out of the nothingness. Shackles of emptiness broken, burning them away from himself and the angel lying too still on the ground. And just like that, the ties were severed, the entire, endless hordes of demons and angels sent here since the beginning, ceased their warring and attempted to flee the wave but the ground and air around them was alive, curling around them like tentacles from the Sarlac pit. Pulling them into the gaping maw of silence.

Dean saw something dark and lifeless dangling in the archangel’s arms, something tattered and broken but he couldn't focus. He could hear Baby’s engine. Strong and sure, revving as if someone were anxiously pressing the accelerator, even as he faded, it was such a reassuring sound, and then there was nothing. 

0-0-0

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0-0-0


	4. Falling Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for graphic depictions of violence. Pretty much par the course.

0-0-0

Cas didn’t believe the light when he saw it. Didn’t recognize it for what it was, or that the entirety of the Empty around him had gone quiet. Lucifer and Michael were still shouting, still pounding fists into one another and ripping him to shreds between them. 

The Empty was screaming, mad with its own awareness. Pulling demons and angels alike into itself and fighting to silence the sheer  _ noise. _

But there, above it all, was a light that Castiel hadn’t seen in a long time. Golden and green, flying right at them like a missile of righteousness. 

Gabriel collided with Lucifer and Michael and sent both spinning. He tried, fruitlessly to grab Castiel as he fell, but Lucifer grabbed Gabriel by the primary wing on his left side, squeezed and wrenched it backward until the intent and interwoven grace within it broke and tore free. 

Gabriel screamed, twisted and put two human like fists through Lucifer’s chest. It didn’t harm him physically as the tearing of his wing had, but it disrupted the Morgingstar’s furious circulation and Gabriel attacked again, tearing at him. Shouting;  **“It’s over! Lucifer, it’s** **_OVER!”_ **

Lucifer roared, too filled with rage to listen;  **“That little bastard killed him! He** **_killed_ ** **him!”**

Michael lunged forward, ripping threads of grace from Lucifer’s wings, fraying them to the bare intent holding him together;  **“You did this! It’s your fault! You created that abomination! Father was right! You’re poison! You’re a disease!”**

Gabriel was pinned between them, collateral damage to their rage.  **“Stop it! It was HIS fault! Dad did this! He was** **_wrong!_ ** **You don’t have to keep fighting! The kid– the kid’s going to fix it!”**

Michael snarled and lashed out with lightning and six hands molded sharp like blades. Plunged them into Gabriel and ripped them free in an attempt to silence him.  **“Fuck the kid!”**

**“I created him, I’ll destroy him for this! I’ll destroy you for helping him!”** He grabbed Gabriel’s face with one hand and Castiel with the other, squeezed,  _ crushed– _

Castiel’s face contorted and he reached up at his captor, hands formed into claws burning bright and powerful beyond his strength.  **“You won’t lay a finger on him!”**

The Empty came down between them like a wrecking ball and Castiel crashed to the ground, stunned. His grace pulsing through broken intent, pouring liquid and white through wounds and torn flesh.

Gabriel screamed as he fell. Lucifer and Michael on him like hell hounds. Ripping and tearing at anything they could wrap fingers in.

The Empty slid over his tattered wings, up his limbs, and Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to fight it. Maybe if he gave in,  _ slept, _ Gabriel would be able to focus all his energy into forcing Lucifer and Michael under. Maybe then the Empty would find silence, and the threat would be culled. But it hurts so much that their Father had done this. Had betrayed them all to this end. Used them to amuse himself, and when he was done, He had thrown them away. Now, awake and aware of His downfall, they were seeking utter destruction instead of unifying under hope for better than the hand Chuck had dealt them. 

It hurts even more when he sees the three slinking shapes coming toward him and all he does is bare his teeth and lift his tattered bloody wings in warning, it hurts because this is the only protest he can offer at the moment, a warning and the knowledge that if they come any closer he will be justified in ripping them to shreds before they get the chance to hurt him again. 

Funny how he felt he needed to be justified to defend himself after everything. 

Funny how that little splinter of Winchester stupidity in him hoped they would come closer so he could pounce. 

They did and he did, but they pinned him anyway, all gnashing teeth and bloody foam in his mouth. They break his jaw, break his wings and arms, one ripped his back to ribbons, bit and tore and intended to violate him. 

He fought because it was all he could do. There were once words he knew that would frighten them away, but their sounds have long since been forgotten amid the pain and hopeless certainty that if any of the angels escape from the Empty there will be no hope for Dean and Sam. No hope for earth. There will be no rescue. No fighting, just a bloody, burning massacre. 

And then there was light… LIGHT!

It burned and he screamed in fear of it, as if he’d never seen it before. The Demons gathered, roaring in excitement at this new chance to create an unending hell in this place where they could never die. 

The light is iridescent, like sunsets reflected on bottomless pools with shining pinpoints of chrome and moonlight. He had never seen it so bright, so alive and giddy!

Castiel stared in disbelief. It wasn’t possible. There wasn’t a way to break into the empty. It was sealed for more than one reason. But there, skidding to a stop thirty feet from him, was the Impala.

The door flew open and there, hidden behind the golden glow of sigils and the bright blue of his intent fed into her for years, stepping out onto emptiness without fear of being swallowed by it. Dean’s face was smeared with blood, and contorted in righteous rage. 

It hurts in the worst way, because it squashes that dark pit of hopelessness growing in Castiel’s chest and he is so certain that feeling it fall out again will hurt worse than anything he has experienced thus far. 

This dim familiar color surrounding Dean hurts because it gives him hope, it hurts because it is pure while he himself feels so sullied and ruined. 

He bowed his head, and in that moment, wanted the vision to disappear. Wanted the empty beneath him to open and swallow him whole, so he might escape from the ache of hopes dashed. 

The brightness returned and with it a silence like no other. Like the earth before God spoke light into being. He is unreal and hovering, locked forever in free fall between thin arms. 

_ “Cas, please!” _

There were WORDS in the stillness, thoughts and images whispered into him from beyond the silence and he inhaled,  _ breathed _ and was FREE. 

The familiar light was back, close. Dim and beautiful and he reached for it then recoiled, certain that if he were to touch such a small and shining thing, so close he was to his true form, he would snuff it out. He felt himself begin to dissolve, limbs gone loose and disjointed, numbness crept in, harried him away into nothing. 

0-0-0

The Impala was moving, spinning her own tires and wheels over alien smoothness.

Dean didn’t know how he had managed to get into the car, only that he was leaned against the driver’s door and the world beyond the windshield was perfect blackness, interrupted by distant quick flashes like fireworks behind clouds. Sweat was beading on his face, and in the seat beside him Gabriel was covered in blood and filth, he had a body cradled to his chest, bundled close and the archangel was sobbing loudly into matted dark hair. 

Dean felt himself crying as well and it frightened him but he couldn’t stop it, groped forward helplessly and caught the bloody hand lying on the seat between them. 

The speedometer was moving. Ten… twelve… fifteen… eighteen… twenty… twenty-five…

Up an incline and down the other side, faster and faster and faster toward a towering monstrosity of blackness studded with pillars of hellfire and tortured grace— thirty… thirty-five… forty forty-five fifty 

The Empty turned, silent and radiating rage and madness. Growled, and the sound was like the very foundations of the universe crumbling.

**“YOOOOUUUUUUUU.”**

There wasn’t enough room, not enough space left between them and the Empty when it rose up, glistening and black as the space between all things and Dean grit his teeth, pulled the angels closer to his chest PUSHED every bit of intent in his body into the car, _ Please… please— _

The Impala roared back, pedal to the floorboard, engine screaming remaining headlights burning with an unnatural fury–fifty-fivesixtysixtyfiveseventyseventyfiveeighty—

The Empty grabbed them, lifting the Impala up, tires screaming as they spin in the air, trying to find traction… sliding backbackback into the abyss as it collapsed inward on itself, swallowing them whole— 

0-0-0

_ Silence… _

“Dean?” Gabriel’s voice was rough, choked but he spoke anyway.

—there was darkness all around them and something silver shimmering above. Dean blinked stupidly out, but the speedometer is on zero and something felt wrong around him. Heavy, pressing and dangerous… Was he dead? Did it work? Was this Emptiness?

Dean blinked, barely conscious and felt something drip into his face. Soft, cold and clean.

Water was spraying in through the cracks in the windshield. 

Dean’s jaw dropped, body jerking in horror when he realized that they are no longer submerged in the black sludge of Empty, but underwater. 

“OH  _ SHIT!” _

The spinning tires settled onto the bottom and the Impala lurched forward suddenly. Up like a shot out of the water and onto dry land with a hiss of steam, and a smell like exhaust and brimstone.

Dean stared dumbly as the wheel turned, the Impala maneuvering herself up a boat ramp and onto dry land. She stopped with a soft squeak of breaks and another hiss of steam, like a sigh of relief as she seemed to settle fully back onto her wheels. Sinking a little deeper into her suspension.

Dean’s whole body shook and blindly he fumbled beside him for the bottle of scotch only to have Gabriel shove it into his hand. 

“Way ahead of you, Deano… Way ahead of you.” 

0-0-0

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	5. The Archangel's Lament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, had family over yesterday and they exhausted me.

0-0-0

Dean couldn’t seem to get drunk. His leg was a mess, he couldn’t look at it without dry heaving, but as badly as it hurt as much as he knew he needed to get to a hospital the Impala wouldn’t move. She was stubbornly still, keys in the ignition engine silent, lone headlight on the shore, so Dean tipped the bottle up to his mouth again and swallowed, could feel liquid going down but there was no taste and sure enough the level of whiskey in the bottle never changed. Either Gabriel was playing a mean nasty trick on him, or he’d tapped into the power of the never-emptying-bottle-of-Booze that was a legend among hunters. It could have been either, Dean wasn’t sure, at the moment he was woozy and hurt in places he’d forgot he had.

Then there was Gabriel, chest deep in the lake holding Cas’s still body to his chest, sobbing and cupping water over his head, carefully, gently washing the grime of injury from his tattered skin. 

Dean didn’t want to look, but couldn’t help it, he was compelled, drawn to it like a moth to flame and if his leg hadn’t been broken above the knee he would have been right down there with him helping. 

The water was calm, silvery from reflected moonlight and the whole place looked so serene, so tranquil but for the angels in the water, a dark jag of discontentment. 

Every so often the wind shifted and Dean could hear murmurs as Gabriel whispered into his brother’s hair. Apologies, pleas for forgiveness, words that sounded so strange, so alien in Gabriel’s human voice.

Even less frequently while Gabriel’s hand was swishing reverently through the water, blessing it with the guttering gold of his grace, Dean could hear sounds of pain and fear and the resulting hitch in the Archangel’s breath. 

Dean’s own body ached in sympathy, that indelible image of Cas caught between his brothers, or below those three demons, the blood and angry hatefulness of it cut deep into his mind. The realization of how close he had come to seeing Cas raped. He couldn’t escape it, felt a sick chill in his bones because he’d experienced the same thing in Hell, even if he couldn’t (didn’t want to) remember it. It lived in the back of his mind, something horrific and indistinct, more a feeling of paralyzing dread than memory. But thinking that it had almost happened to Cas made him want to remember, but never remember. A sickening dichotomy. All the while he felt tears tracking the length of his face. So, he tried again to empty the whiskey bottle, digging his fingers into his thigh just to feel the roar of pain from the broken bone, something—anything to distract him from trying to remember. 

Sam… Dean wanted Sam here. Wanted his little brother to tell him it was OK because none of this felt OK, none of it felt anywhere near OK. He wanted Sam here so he could apologize. Wanted those thick awkward words on his tongue because this just—it just hurt too much to bear alone and he really didn’t care in that moment what anybody thought of that.

Gabriel moved slowly toward shore, staggering, heavy footfalls out of the water, but he still had Castiel held tightly in his arms wrapped in his ruined coat. 

Dean watched them, and in his minds eye he saw Gabriel as that massive gold creature with so many wings and arms and even though he hadn’t seen any eyes, the ability to watch him always. How similar Castiel had looked. Man shaped with multiple arms and two sets of wings, broken and tattered, how hurt he’d looked. That magnificent shifting color of him dimmed and diminished to nearly nothing. Bleeding and broken, but still fighting until the end. 

Beautiful. They were both so alien and beautiful and terrible at the same moment.

Gabriel slid into the car, gripping his brother and there wasn’t a drop of water clinging to them. 

Dean didn’t even have to touch the ignition, the engine just rumbled to a start. He shuddered, awkwardly patted the dash in appreciation.

The drive was smooth which was a plus because about ten minutes after pulling onto the road the pain became nearly unbearable. Dean’s vision began to swim and he could feel his stomach tightening, mouth flooding with saliva in preparation of greeting his last meal again. 

“Easy,” Gabriel said low in his throat. “Just breathe, we’re almost there.”

“After all that you tell me to take it easy?” Dean wobbles his head to the side to stare at Gabriel; “You turned my car into something from a Stephen King novel!”

Gabriel’s lips twitched but the smile didn’t reach his eyes; “I did not, I just gave her the ability to fully express the intent  _ you gave her _ … She’s worried about you.”

Dean stared him and politely lifted his hands from the wheel, not looking at the road but the Impala followed it just the same. “She’s driving herself.”

Gabriel just looked at him as if he’d grown a third head. “And?”

“You don’t think that’s a little creepy?”

“You’re the one who gave her intent. All those years of sigils and playing around with the fringes of magic, what did you think would happen! You and your brother are straddling the line between human and witch as it is, but with that bond of yours!” He shook his head tiredly. “You should really watch yourself, controlling intent is harder to than you’d think. You wouldn’t want your guns to start going off on their own, would you?”

The hospital was the same as any other hospital Dean had found himself in. They took information, ate up the insurance he pretended to have, took him to the back and pumped him full of morphine, after that Dean didn’t really care that Gabriel had pulled an ‘invisible angel’ trick and stayed absolutely still in the car with Cas, or that he’d snapped away all the alcohol in his system, the good stuff was running through his veins, the nurses weren’t bad looking, even the police who took his statement on the ‘hit and run’ seemed completely at ease and ate his story up like chocolate cake. 

Dean didn’t think much of anything until the orthopedic doctor and his assistant slapped the x-ray up onto the light box and popped Dean’s bones back into alignment in a rather merciless manner. 

“Simple break,” They’d said, “You’ll be out of here in a few days.”

And Dean had refused to be admitted, he was high enough on Morphine that he giggled something about a pretty pink cast and wound up grinning stupidly while the plaster fiberglass dried.

After that he didn’t remember much. There was a low buzz at the back of his mind and things happened in a haze. He vaguely remembered Gabriel pushing him into the passenger seat and taking the keys from him. Cas huddled like a kitten, eyes bloodshot and constantly watering as he stared blindly out the cracked windshield. He looked awful but at least his eyes were open, at least there was only a minimum of blood and dried empty caked on him. 

“Why didn’t you heal him?” Dean remembered asking, his head leaned into the window, groping for his bottle of scotch. 

Gabriel winced, “I tried. I-I’m not at the top of my game right now,” he hunched over the wheel, peering out at the city as they passed. 

“Why not?”

“Sibling rivalry.”

Dean was opening his mouth to protest when Gabriel guided the car off the road and parallel parked in front of a Books and Coffee shop that looked to have been closed for hours already. He sat there for a minute, lower lip quivering and turned to Castiel, pulling him close and whispering into his ear something Dean couldn’t understand, but Cas’ eyes slid closed. Slowly as if he were fighting it, he relaxed into the Archangel’s arms, allowed himself to be pulled from the car and settled against the brick wall behind them.

“Come on, Deano… Out you get!” He pulled the passenger door open with a wince.

Dean grumbled but managed to get out of the car with one crutch, bottle still in hand. “What now?”

And the car doors shut with a loud snap and a click of the locks.

Dean stared in shock blinking through the window at his keys dangling in the ignition then back up at Gabriel. “What’s that about!”

“She’s upset you let me drive.” Gabriel turned and met his gaze. The archangel was too pale, a sickly gray color collecting like bruises under his golden eyes. He turned and spoke loudly, impatiently to the Impala herself; “I’m sorry, alright! Did you really want this idiot behind the wheel when he’s stoned out of his gourd?”

The car seemed to prickle in annoyance.

“You’re worse than he is, you know that!”

The rear passenger door flew open and knocked Gabriel off his feet, then slammed shut and locked again.

“Really?” Gabriel climbed slowly, painfully to his feet, cradling his scratched palms. “This is the thanks I get? Do you like rust?”

The radio clicked on briefly, static and angry pounding heavy metal behind the guttural fry of a German man’s voice.  _ “NooooOOOOOOOO!” _

Then silence.

Dean watched it all with an expression of dreamy disbelief.

“Fine,” Gabriel pointed at Dean and Castiel, “At least don’t let anyone near them until Sam gets here, you care about  _ them, _ right?” Then he turned, looked Dean in the eye and was gone in a quick roar of wind. 

0-0-0

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	6. Good Vibes Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed two weeks because I've had some health trouble with my RA and head. Ill post a couple chapters this week to get back on schedule.

0-0-0

Sam got the call at two in the morning on Tuesday. 

Tuesday… He shivered.

It took him almost four hours to get there—packing, plane tickets, invasive searches, expensive ass cab ride. Christ.

He hadn’t seen Dean in two months, not since he’d confronted him about the drinking and the fact that maybe there wasn’t a way to get Cas back. Maybe they really were on their own again.

Dean had punched him—tried to punch him anyway, he’d had worse—and he’d watched the Impala fade away into the night. Sam had been angry at himself the whole time, left messages on Dean’s phone. He was worried. Dean hadn’t been the same since Jack left. Hadn’t honestly been the same since Cas was taken. He was quiet, distant, mournful. 

Sam had worried that Dean may do something stupid. Worried that he may drink himself to death or wrap the Impala around a tree and die in the ensuing fire.

Sam had let him be for two weeks. Thought maybe Dean would find some peace with himself. Two weeks turned into three, into a month, and Sam tried to find him via the GPS, but Dean could be slippery. When he didn’t want to be found, he wasn’t found. 

When Sam did eventually find him, he was in Pontiac. When he’d finally got him on the phone two days before, he could tell by Dean’s voice that things were worse than he’d feared.

“I’m just worried about you, Dean. I know this hit you hard, believe me I know. So, if you need to talk, I’m here.”

Dean had been quiet for a long while, then spoke in half a whisper; “I just need some time to think.”

“Okay, whatever you need. Just please, be safe. Shoot me a text if you can to let me know you’re okay.”

“Yeah… yeah, okay.”

Sam had tried not to worry himself sick when there was no text. Tried to.

And then, two in the morning Tuesday—another shiver— There was Dean’s voice on the other end of the phone. “ _ She locked the doors… keys in the ignition… And my leg’s broken.” _

_ “How’d that happen?” _

_ “Uh,”He giggled, “I got stomped by a fat dicked demon.” _

_ “Dean, are you drunk?” _

_ “No… Not this time, they gave me the good stuff.” _

_ “Where are you?” _

Dean cleared his throat before he could say it and the words came out cracked anyway.  _ “Minnesota… Lexington…” _ Someone on the other end of the line with Dean said his name in a whimper and Dean shushed them. _ “So I’ll see you soon, Sammy… Bring some cash… I think the Empty stole my wallet.” _

And he’d hung up.

Sam’s stomach burbled nervously as the cab pulled into town just before sunrise. The sky was a brilliant red and gold with purple at the edges. Dean hadn’t said where he was in town, so Sam decided to hit the basics first. Hotel? Nope. Hospital _ —‘He refused to be admitted and after the cast set he left, maybe you can give us the correct billing address?’ _

Sam rubbed his face irritably and scowled, hiking his bag higher on his back as he shuffled off, shoulders hunched miserably. If he didn’t find Dean in the next fifteen minutes he was taking out a room at the hotel and getting a good night’s sleep that was that!

He glanced at his watch and had he not stopped at the corner to do so he would have missed it completely in the gloom. Two blocks down on his right was the Impala, parked in front of a book store—the driver’s side headlights were smashed out and dangling by frayed wires, the windshield was cracked and the whole driver’s side was trashed, as if the poor thing had snuggled up to a brick wall. And sitting there on the sidewalk in front of the shop were two men. One with his knees drawn up and tucked beneath his chin, arms folded around his chest. The other lounged triumphantly with the first man tucked intimately under his arm, right leg jackknifed, elbow cocked on his knee a half empty bottle of liquor hanging loosely in his grip.

Dean’s left leg was stretched out—jeans cut from ankle to crotch, a long bright pink cast encasing the whole leg, save his toes, with a pair of aluminum crutches propped against the wall to his side. 

Sam’s eyes widened as he approached because there was Dean… And the person beside him, dressed in ruined suit and tie, bare feet curled and small looking, bruised and cut and crusted with grit and blood, was Cas.

Dean didn’t seem to notice his brother’s approach, just kept humming and chafing Cas’s arm through his shirt. They both looked like they’d been put through the blender. Cut and scraped and stitched back together in just about every visible place. And Sam’s eyes lingered a little too long on the lichtenberg fractals crusted black on his arms, and the claw marks on the side of his face.

Sam swallowed bile rising in his throat and met Dean’s eyes as they swiveled up to him tiredly. 

“Hey, Sammy,” His voice was clearer than it had been in months and his eyes were dark, resolute. “How’d you get here so fast?”

Sam’s brows pulled together; “Fast? Are you being sarcastic?”

Dean’s nose wrinkled up; “No… I—I only called you like five minutes ago.”

“No… You called me last night. It took like six hours to get here.” 

Dean’s expression is disappointed, but not surprised; “Stupid archangels.” 

Sam decided he really didn’t want to know, and instead redirected the focus away from ‘stupid archangels’, and Dean’s missing time. Yes, he decided to ask Cas about whatever had happened later. There would be time for delicacy then, time for sympathy and healing after the shock had worn off. Right now he could tell they just wanted to leave this place, wanted to get away and for a little while and forget. “What did you do to the car?”

Dean’s split lip curled up into a smile, sad but genuine; “Oh, boy aren’t you in for a surprise.” 

Sam swallowed and suppressed another shiver. Tuesday… Fuck he hated Tuesday.

“Does she still start?”

“Of course… Take more than that to stop her,” He chuckled again and nuzzled into Castiel’s hair.

Sam nodded and went to the driver’s door, sliding the extra key he wasn’t honestly supposed to have into the lock and opened it up, stepping back in shock when a little water spilled out from he didn’t know where. However the interior was completely dry.

His nose wrinkled. The interior was dry and she reeked of brimstone and old blood; “Think you need a new air-freshener.” 

“What? Don’t like my ‘Ode de’ Emp-tee’.”

“Not my favorite, no… Sorry.” 

“Nah, me neither,” He sighed and let his head thump back against the brickwork, eyes distant and shining. He blinked rapidly and breathed deliberately slow.

Cas’s face crinkled up and he leaned more heavily against Dean’s side, his throat working quickly as if swallowing down bile.

Sam unlocked the rear passenger door and returned to his brother’s side flicking his eyes to Cas without saying anything, but his gaze was enough, wary, unsure—  _ ‘Is he really Cas?’ _

Dean nodded and let his eyes close; “He can’t walk yet…”

Sam nodded and dropped into a crouch, offering a hesitant hand, waiting to be touched instead of forcefully initiating the contact.

Cas didn’t open his eyes at all, but leaned away from the older Winchester and into Sam’s arms chest, his face scrunched, cheeks gone even more pale under the bruising. His arms felt so thin and toneless around Sam’s neck, his legs the same as they were hooked over one arm, the other snaking around his back, fingers delving wrist deep into tattered bloody fabric.

Sam jerked back in surprise, eyes widening, and locking onto his brother’s green ones.

Dean’s gaze was dead sober, jaw tense, as if to say;  _ ‘Not now, just get us out of here.’ _

Sam swallowed a curse, feeling the cracked whine of pain from Cas’s abused throat in his chest. With a deep breath for courage he slid his arm back around the angel’s waist.

Once Sam was on his feet again Dean let out a sigh and reached for his crutches. It took a few tries and some painful wriggling to get his broken leg outstretched and onto his uninjured knee before he could push himself up—“I’m OK—I’m OK!” He wobbled unsteadily and took a few deep breaths, the pain making his heart race and his vision swim as if he were back under the water, sinking—sinkingsinking. He hobbled to the car and managed somehow to get himself into the back seat, giving Sam an impatient wave of his arms and reaching for Cas when he tried to put him in the front.

Sam didn’t like the idea at first, but then again, he didn’t really have any say in it did he, besides, Cas was practically crawling out of his grip and into Dean’s. Slotting in between his arms as if he had been made to fit there, knees drawn up, arms folded between his chest and Dean’s, face pressed snugly into the hollow of his throat. 

The Impala started with a throaty rumble and Sam let his breath out in a whoosh. They’d probably be pulled over for the headlight and the cracked windshield, but that didn’t matter. Right now all that mattered was moving forward and hoping that by dawn this town and all the memories were left behind—even for one day. They could deal with it tomorrow, they could handle anything then.

0-0-0

0-0-0

0-0-0


	7. The End

0-0-0

It was almost a full twelve hour drive back to the bunker. Sam made it on determination, and dangerous amounts of caffeine. Dean and Cas had barely moved, and hadn’t eaten when Sam stopped for food. He understood Castiel’s jerky head shake, as Castiel could, but didn’t usually eat unless he wanted to. Dean, on the other hand, morphine always made Dean queasy for a day or two after having it. 

Sam heard the bunker’s garage doors shut and the lights flickered on. He parked in Dean’s usual spot, near the interior door and the closet with all the toolboxes, shut off the engine and sat his jaw. “Look, Dean, there’s something I need to tell you.” He turned and met Dean’s gaze. 

The morphine had worn off hours ago and Dean had become very quiet, pale, and tense. Obviously feeling ill, and Sam suspected in a good bit of pain. His arms tightened a little more around Castiel to the point that the angel growled out a low threat;  _ “Stop squeezing me, or I’ll hurt you.” _ And Dean had accidentally slapped Sam in the back of his head while on the interstate when he let go quickly. 

Now though, Dean was gripping the ruined leg of his jeans above the cast, and the angel had turned his back to the front of the car and hidden his face in the seat.

“What?” Dean croaked, his lips were sickly pale and he appeared on the verge of physical collapse. “You rent out my room or something?”

“No, uh– I asked Eileen to come by while you were gone and… Well,” He looked away nervously.

“You moved in your girlfriend?”

“It’s not permanent, she still has her place, but she was a big help while you were gone and–“

“She smells better than you, so that’ll be nice.” 

Sam was not surprised, but glad Dean wasn’t going to make rude comments. “Okay,” He cleared his throat. “What do you want me to do about the car? She’s pretty sorry looking–”

“She’s all caved in on the driver’s side and my mirror’s gone. ‘Sorry’ is putting it mildly.”

“And that… those sigils on the hood, it’s down to the metal.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and the slightest hint of color rose to his cheeks. “I’m gonna shoot that Archangel next time I see him,” He swiped a shaking hand over his head. “We were underwater, Sam. Under. Water!”

Sam winced. “Alright… How do you want to handle it?”

“Same as I always do.”

“Yeah, but your leg’s kind of broken.”

“Yeah, I can feel that.”

“So, I’ll just park her here and when the cast comes off–”

“Screw that! If Gabriel doesn’t show up within the next two days I’m gonna–“He bared his teeth, eyes squeezing shut, and against his chest Castiel shifted hesitantly breath catching in pain.

“Cas, are you awake?” Sam said softly.

“It appears so,” His voice was still weak, rougher than normal. “Although, that’s debatable, as I find it nearly impossible to move.” 

“It’s okay, we’ve got a wheelchair around here somewhere and I think I can get you into one of the spare rooms.”

“No, you put him in my room so I can keep a fucking eye on him!” Dean demanded, much more forcefully than Sam thought was possible given the state of him. His right arm slides down off the back of the seat and wraps around the angel.

“Okay, okay,” Sam said reaching over the seat to touch Dean’s shoulder, surprised when he wasn’t batted away. “Just stay put, I’ll go find the chair and we’ll get you set up as soon as I get the car covered.”

The radio clicked on to quiet static and Sam turned, staring at it sadly. The wiring. If they really had been underwater, the wiring was going to go down hill fast. Dean was going to be furious. He turned the radio off again and climbed out.

Eileen was in the kitchen when Sam came through and he flickered the light switch to get her attention, signed as quickly as he was able that Dean was in the car and Castiel was back, but he would need some help getting them both inside.

“No problem,” She dusted her hands on a towel and turned off the range. 

Sam checked three spare rooms before he found the wheelchair, folded up beside a few pairs of old wooden crutches. It still had the ‘Hospital Use Only’ sticker on the back and tags from the hospital he’d lifted it from. 

Eileen was waiting for him in the corridor leading to the garage. “How did he get Cas back?”

“I don’t know,” He flipped his fingers on his forehead. “It had something to do with Gabriel.”

The rear passenger door was open when they came into the garage and Dean was grinning like a loon, still gripping Cas with one arm, the other resting limply on his head, elbow on the back of the driver’s seat. 

“I thought I told you two to sit still!”    
  
Dean chuckled, a high pitched not quite sane sound and let his brother pull Cas out of the vehicle.

“I mean it this time. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Sam, he’s all covered in blood,” Eileen tugged his sleeve and gently cradled Cas’s nearest hand, staring in discomfort at the wounds snaking up his arm.

“Take him to the bathroom.” Dean was fighting with his crutches.

“Just sit still, we’ll get him settled and come back for you–“

“No. I want out of this car  _ now.” _

Sam registered the hint of fear on Dean’s face as he eased Cas into the chair. “What? It’ll take like two minutes!”

“Now!” Dean threw a crutch at him. “Get me out  _ now!” _

Sam was sure then that something was wrong, and gave Eileen an apologetic look as he bent to collect the crutch, and help Dean ease his injured leg out of the car.

Dean forced himself up with a hiss of pain and gripped Sam’s broad shoulders with fingers turned claws. 

“Easy! Take it easy!” Sam handed him the crutches, “What’s got you so worked up!”

Dean gave another disturbed laugh, “You’ll see!” He moved slowly, unsteadily toward the door. 

Sam shut the car door with a shake of his head and followed. 

Eileen stopped the wheelchair outside the bathroom door and gave Sam a lingering look as she signed “I’ll finish dinner,” and patted his hand encouragingly. 

Dean was already inside, pawing at his shirts with numb fingers, swaying unsteadily on his crutches. 

“Hey, Dean!” Sam caught his elbow before he toppled over. “Calm down. What can I do?”

Dean’s eyes were glassy, frantic; “I-I gotta get him clean.”

“Dean, I’m pretty sure he can handle that on his own.”

“You don’t know that. You didn’t see what they did to him,” Dean leaned heavily against the wall and stripped his shirts upward over his head.

“Jesus, what about you!” Sam moved in and hovered a hand over the blackened stripe running the length of Dean’s back, and the band across his ribs. “What happened!”

“I got flung by a couple demons, it’s nothing.” The pale clamminess of his face said otherwise.

“I thought the Empty had Cas. It looks like you’ve been through hell.”

Dean met his eyes, brows up and lips pulled back in a manic grin; “Did you know that when demons die they go to the empty too? All the restless spirits, and angels and why is it so hot in here!”

“Dean, I need you to breathe,” Sam said carefully, hands lifted to catch his brother should he fall. “I think you’re having an anxiety attack.”

“I think you’re right,” His right leg began to buckle and his crutches clattered to the floor. 

“Sam!” Cas’s voice was calm, but urgent and when Sam glanced his way he found the angel on the floor beside the soaking tub, half slumped. He gave the wheelchair a weak little shove and it rolled vaguely in Sam’s direction. 

Sam managed to snag it with an outstretched leg and pull it roughly in his direction. Muttering soft encouragements as he guided his brother down to sit. “Take it easy. Just sit here a while and breathe.”

Dean balanced his head in his hands and nodded shakily, fine tremors running through him. 

Sam took a few slow breaths himself and took a step toward Castiel. “Do you need help getting in the water?”

“I’ll manage,” His fingers didn’t seem to want to work, and it took a few tries to get his ruined shirt open enough that the pieces of it fell from his shoulders. 

Sam wanted to be sick. Castiel's shoulders were almost unrecognizable as skin. Long jagged claw marks ran down the length of him, bruises so dark purple they looked black as his suit littered him head to toe, and there were marks Sam knew. Stab marks hatched around his shoulder blades. 

Sam wanted to ask what had happened, but held his tongue. Turned to see Dean staring at the angel with a hand over his mouth and wet tracks flowing down his face. 

“I’ll, I’ll go get you two some clean clothes.” And Sam fled.

Dean watched him silently, felt the tears on his cheeks but couldn’t stop them. All he could see was Lucifer and Michael playing tug-o-war with Castiel. Demons beating him, flaying his back. The crunch and crackle of the angel’s bones breaking. 

“Can you heal it?” It came out in a whisper. “Can you heal yourself? Are you okay?”

Cas stared at him tiredly. The relief in him palpable, but weary. “Eventually… I’m not going to be of much use for a while.”

“Fuck that, are you alright?”

Cas paused, pulling at the shreds of his slacks. “My bones are mending. The wounds to my true form will take much longer to heal, and I may have to allow certain physical injuries to heal in a human manner, but I should be completely mobile by morning."

Dean moves then, awkwardly shuffles the wheelchair forward and grabs him. Combs both hands through dark hair. “Don’t do that again. Don’t you ever–  _ ever _ do that to me again!”

“It was the only choice I had. The only way I could save you.”

“And how do you think that made me feel, huh? You were gone, Cas. Gone! And I didn’t know how to get you back! We couldn’t find any way to get you back!”

Castiel’s arms lifted slowly and draped around Dean’s neck. He felt that weightless sensation again. “Dean–“

“You love me? You  _ love _ me? How- _ what–“ _ He pulled back, both hands tangled too firmly in Castiel’s filthy hair. His face was pale and blotched unattractively from crying and his lips had a bluish tinge from leaning forward on broken ribs. He stared in disbelief, breath catching on half sobs in his throat. Every inhale sounded like agony. His brow dropped suddenly forward and bumped against the angel’s; “Don’t do that again. Don’t leave me like that ever again! I can’t handle it! Without you I don’t feel whole. You– I’m an idiot. I’m a fucking idiot!” He lifted his head and pulled Cas in sharply, crashing their mouths together once, then softly again and again between sobs. 

Cas gripped his shirt tightly, felt the fabric ripping beneath his numb fingers and a low keen escaped him. 

Out in the hall Sam paused outside the door, heard Dean’s voice, choked and utterly ruined.  _ “Don’t leave me again.” _ And Castiel’s answer, just as wet and broken as his brother’s.

_ “I won’t. I won’t.” _

0-0-0

0-0-0

0-0-0


	8. The Beginning... Again

0-0-0

Dean looked awful. 

Castiel looked worse. 

Sam didn’t want to wake either of them up. 

Dean was propped on the extra pillows Eileen had stolen from the unoccupied rooms, leg resting on a pillow. Castiel was bundled in all the blankets, lying sideways across the bed with the crown of his head pressed into Dean’s hip, and one of Dean’s hands tangled in his hair. 

Sam couldn’t help but imagine the wounds littering Castiel’s body, and wonder if the ones on his true form were any worse. He looked like he’d been thrown into the ring with an angry lion. Bruises, rips, and tears in his skin. Sam wondered if a few of them would heal better if they were stitched. 

Dean… Dean looked like he’d been hit by a bus. His face was swollen and blackened across both cheeks, nose likely broken. His chest was the color of a ripe plum, and two fingernails on his right hand had been torn into the quick. He was sleeping with his mouth open because of the swelling, awful sounds of congestion and labored breathing coming from between split lips. 

Sam hurt in sympathy, just by looking at them.

Even Miracle had been too cautious to jump on the bed that morning and wake them. 

As much as the risk of disturbing them bothered him, Sam knew he didn’t have much of a choice. He took a deep breath and moved quietly forward. He knew how Dean was, waking him suddenly was a horrible idea, but he risked it, knowing the gun under Dean’s pillow had been removed the night before, tucked into a desk drawer. 

Sam grit his teeth, trying to be as silent as possible as he flicked another soft blanket over his brother. Dean only really slept in his underwear during the summer, or if the boiler was having one of its over heated days. Shirtless on top of it meant Dean was going to wake up absolutely freezing and stiff. Which considering how sore he was going to be from his injuries, Sam didn’t even want to think of how awful Dean would feel.

The first blanket settled over him gently and Sam took a few careful seconds to fold it away from Cas’ face. The second was the same, and the third Sam left folded on the foot of the bed in case it was needed, as he was turning to go he noticed Castiel’s eyes were open, peering at him gratefully.

Sam gave him a nod and left the room. 

Dean didn’t wake up for another three hours. Closer to noon than he’d woken up in a long time. He didn’t call out loud for Sam, instead he literally called him.

Sam felt worry sour his stomach as he answered the phone. “Dean? Whats wrong?”

“I need drugs.” his voice was weak, strained.

“Okay, what kind?”

“All of it. Christ, I haven’t hurt this bad ever.” 

Sam felt himself grinning, he didn’t know why, but there was something wonderfully normal about Dean’s voice. Something so calm where he’d been hollow for so long. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

“Bring ice! It took me fifteen tries to get your number right. I can’t see a damned thing!”

Sam brought him a cold pack, and the strongest pain relievers they had on hand. “I have coffee, codeine, and one of Eileen’s beauty masks.”

“I’ll hurt you.”

Sam grinned and put a bag of lima beans gently across Dean’s forehead.

Dean groaned and eased the bag down over the bridge of his nose. “I can’t breathe.”

“That’s what happens when your nose is broken. Don’t you remember from the first time?”

“Big difference from a soccer ball kicked by your kid brother, and a demon the size of a tank decking you.”

“Yeah,” Sam tapped his hand and deposited three pills. “Brought you a straw.”

“For coffee! Are you trying to kill me!”

“Do you really want to sit up any more?”

Dean growled pitifully and put the pills in his mouth. “Gimme!”

The stupid asshole spat the straw across the room and forced his head up. He managed three gulps then almost drowned himself with the fourth. Sam took the mug away with a shake of his head. All the while Dean’s left hand didn’t move from Castiel’s hair. Fingers flexing gently against his scalp. 

Sam felt the tightness in his chest begin to ease. The claw marks on the angel’s face didn’t look as bad this morning. Maybe it had been Dean’s care with helping him clean the wounds, maybe his grace was slowly returning. “Do you two need anything?”

“I gotta pee so bad,” Dean said remorsefully. “But I don’t want to move even more.” 

“Not how it works.”

“I know.”

“Want a hand getting up?”

“No.”

Sam pursed his lips and shifted his weight from foot to foot. 

Castiel’s hand appeared and tapped petulantly at Dean’s hip. 

Dean groaned, “Yes.” Defeated, he raised one arm carefully for Sam to help.

0-0-0

Eileen found them all in the kitchen when she returned with groceries. Seated at the table, blinking at one another stupefied over oatmeal with bananas in it. She put the groceries away slowly, stealing glances at them. None of them had moved more than to lift a spoon or coffee mug to their lips, or in Dean’s case prod gently at his face with a half thawed bag of old lima beans. 

The swelling had gone down, but he was badly bruised, sitting there in that stolen wheelchair with his robe draped over his lap, left leg propped up on a pillow. Someone, most likely Sam had drawn a tiny smiley face on the bottom of his big toe. 

“So, what did I miss?” She leaned across the butcher block, hands folded.

Sam turned and gave her a crooked grin over his mug.

Cas shuffled his shoulders deeper into his blanket burrito and lifted his hands carefully to sign as he spoke, “Dean fell off the toilet.”

Dean dropped his beans.

“She asked. Other than breakfast and treating our injuries that was the only thing that happened.”

But Sam was laughing. Loudly from the way his head arched back. The scrunch of his eyes and nose in amusement. His hands came up working carefully through the signs; “I came in and he was stuck with his leg in the air like a dog!”

Dean’s brows pulled down and from his expression, was contemplating throwing his ice pack at his brother. “It hurt, you bitch!”

Sam’s smile was radiant. He flipped a crumpled napkin at Dean and climbed to his feet. He put his empty bowl in the sink, sidestepped and caught Eileen around the waist, dropping a kiss to her brow. 

“Sam,” She said, “You left the car door open last night.”

Sam paused, and looked at her. He distinctly remembered shutting them. 

“I shut it when I came through.” She tilted her head curiously, “Are you guys going to be able to fix it?”

Sam raised his brows, “Dean’s brought her back from worse.”

“It’s fine,” Dean said. Sam rolled his eyes and translated because Dean was preoccupied with his ice pack and coffee. “She’ll be fine once she calms down and lets me work on her.”

Sam’s fingers twitched. “What?”

“She’s angry because I was spaced out on morphine and let Gabriel drive,” The words came out thick, like they left a bad taste in his mouth.

“She’s a car, cars don’t get angry.”

Dean snorted; “This one sure does… Creepy as hell.” He finished his coffee and held the cup out to his brother for more.

“Yeah, sure, the  _ car _ is angry with you.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you’re possibly concussed and hallucinating, but–“

“If it didn’t creep me the hell out I’d show you. But right now I’m not wearing pants, and it’s cold in the garage.”

“It’s never stopped you before, Hot pants.”

“If you wanna go get up close and personal with her, be my guest. I’ve had my fill of ‘From a Buick Eight’ thank you!”

Sam sat his mug down and leaned across the table. “Okay, what’s going on. I saw the radio messing up, and the signal lights turning on. Is the wiring fried because of the water? Is that what’s got you so upset?”

Dean smacked the tabletop and turned to Eileen, a bright almost fearful smile on his face. “I need a drink. We still got that beer Missus Butters left?”

Eileen shook her head mournfully; “Sorry.”

“Dude, that was months ago.”

“You drank my beer? That was my birthday beer!”

“Your birthday isn’t in February!” Sam rolled his eyes. “Come on, talk to me. What’s wrong with the car? Just come out and show me. Maybe you can talk me through fixing it if you’re that worried about it getting worse.” 

“No!”

“You taught me how to keep up with her once. I’m pretty sure I can do it again.”

“Oh, boy have you got a surprise waiting for you!” 

Sam shook his head; “You are concussed aren’t you.”

“No… Maybe.”

“That demon punched you so hard it rattled your brain and you’re having hallucinations just like you did when you had the flu and we watched The Wizard of Oz.”

“Hey! I told you the munchkins were scary!”

“Dean, just take a deep breath and think about this rationally.”

“She’s alive, Sammy!”

“She– It’s a car, Dean,” He pitched his voice low and careful. “You’re hallucinating.”

Dean went quiet, frantic grin now more of a baring of teeth; “Okay. Fine. Go talk to her.”

Sam rolled his eyes. 

“No. No, go talk to her and see for yourself! Gabriel pulled some Stephen King bullshit and she locked us out!”

“Okay. Okay!” He held up his hands. “I’ll prove it to you, come on.”

“I’m not going out there!” He flapped a hand at Castiel; “Back me up here, Cas!”

“Dean, I was insensate practically the whole time. My ‘backup’ is completely worthless.”

“Gabriel! Call Gabriel down here!”

Cas rolled his eyes and was silent a moment, face pinched in effort. “Yeah, that’s not happening. I’m powerless right now, remember?”

“Dean!” Sam snapped, pulling his brother’s attention back to him; “It was the morphine. You know how you get when you have Morphine… It’s just the car, man. She’s not alive. This isn’t Christine. Come on.”

Dean stared at him helplessly.

“Come on!” Sam coaxed him forward like he’d coaxed Miracle from under the boiler that morning. He was tempted to dangle a few pieces of bacon in front of his brother instead of continuing this absurd conversation. 

Dean deflated, and stiffly moved himself forward. It took a few moments to maneuver through the doorways, and Sam’s help to make it over the step down into the garage, but there she sat. Driver’s front fender scrunched. Headlights dangling.

She reminded Dean of a prom queen who’d got in a fistfight over her crown. He stayed to the edge of the room, wary. Afraid she might just come at him like that time years and years ago when the woman in white had nearly made her run them down. 

“Be careful,” Dean muttered. “She bites!”

Sam tried to be gentle. Humored his brother as he approached. Touched the trunk lid, the rear door, the passenger door and hood. He circled around the damage and opened the driver’s door. “See?” He shut it again. “She’s not alive, Dean. She’s just steel, wire, and rubber like any other car in here.”

The door came unlatched, screeched a little. 

Sam blinked stupidly, shut it a little more firmly. “The latch is just busted–“

The radio fizzed into life. Some radio talk show, with old republican men arguing over the depravity of the younger people.  _ “– that’s what you think!”  _ and everything went silent.

Sam took a step back, startled. 

Across the room Dean shrank back in the wheelchair, hands fisted in discomfort. 

Sam worked himself up, rubbed his thumbs against his fingertips uncertainly; “It’s the wiring. We’ll have to pull it all out and replace–“He didn’t finish his sentence. The door flew violently open and knocked him head over heels across the garage, then snapped shut and locked.

“What the  _ hell _ was  _ that!” _ Sam scrambled to his feet. Bent at the knees and ready for a fight, eyes locked on the car in horror.

“I told you!” Dean shrieked and tried to wheel himself backward. “I  _ told _ you!”

“That!” Sam pointed. “She’s possessed! She’s not alive, she’s possessed!”

The engine roared into life, and Sam darted backward between the Studebakers.

“I think you pissed her off!” Dean shouted to be heard. 

Sam fumbled in his pockets for his phone and shoved his hair out of his face, dancing in place like a toddler in a bathroom. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” He managed to get the Face-time application open and called Eileen. 

The Impala revved her engine and bounced forward a few feet, and Sam scurried on top of one of the old sedans like an over-sized squirrel. 

“Hey, Sam. Everything alright?”

Sam’s hand shook. He hoped his expression was enough, but, just in case he made the sign for ‘help’ repeatedly, and turned the phone around to show her the car as it jumped at him again. 

Eileen made a low sound of shock and her phone clattered across the tabletop. 

“Sam?” Cas plucked up the phone. “Oh,” He said evenly; “She _ is _ awake.” And the call ended.

Eileen burst through the door with a can of salt in one hand and an emergency flare in the other, ready to strike it against the wall. She lunged at the car with a shout; “Hey! Back off!”

Dean was shouting, fighting to get the chair rolling; “No! Nononono!” He grabbed at the flare. 

Miracle nosed his way into the garage and began barking excitedly.

“Dean! Dean, it’s possessed! You-you picked up something in the Empty! It’s a demon or a spirit!”

“No! No, she’s not! She’s alive!” He managed to get the flare away, face pale from exertion, and everything stilled. 

The Impala stopped bouncing too and fro, and the engine settled into an idle. 

“She’s not alive!”

“Yes, she is!”

“Sam! We have to burn it!” Eileen turned and looked at him sadly. “I know you guys don’t want to hear it. But…”

“You can stop,” Castiel said, breathlessly, as he limped into the room. He’d shed his blankets somewhere along the way and was dressed only in Dean’s hot dog pajama bottoms and a t-shirt over his bandages. “Shes not possessed, or haunted.”

“Then what the  _ fuck _ was that, huh!” Sam pointed, still perched on the hood of an adjacent car. 

“It’s a long story,” Castiel gingerly rested his hip against the nearest vehicle. “The gist of it is she is, in fact, alive. Insomuch as she is sentient, and possesses a soul. You can thank your brother for that.”

Sam turned to Dean with his face screwed up in abject horror. “What the hell did you do!”

Dean scratched self-consciously at his ear; “So… Apparently so long of us using spells and all those sigils and stuff. Was like, Magical P-ninety-X for our Intent?”

“What?” Sam shook his head; “Intent? What? But– We–“He spluttered and gestured with both hands at the Impala; “The  _ car _ is  _ alive!” _

“And we’re basically witches… That about sums it up.”

Sam snorted in disbelief. Coughed in denial. Whimpered in realization and turned to stare at the Impala with a look of dread. 

Dean sighed weightily, “Can I get that drink now?”

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End file.
